


The Past Five Years

by portabello_road



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, Prequel, Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portabello_road/pseuds/portabello_road
Summary: When Anya is forced to leave the hospital she woke up in, she must cross Russia to reach St. Petersburg to get to her true destination: Paris. Meanwhile, Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov returns home and begins to hear whispers of the Romanovs, and a mysterious young woman who disappeared from the same hospital his mother stayed at.
Relationships: Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Gleb Vaganov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Anya

**Author's Note:**

> In the Broadway show, Anya mentions how she woke up in the hospital and crossed Russia to reach St. Petersburg. In one line, she says how she washed dishes in Odessa and worked in a hospital in Perm, and since Perm and Yekatinberg aren't far apart, I began to wonder about the years in between 1917 - 1927. This is basically me filling in those gaps with Gleb's story in mind too.

_Perm._

_March 1922_

Anya studied the checkerboard in front of her. She already knew the move to win the game three rounds ago, but she decided to tease the old man in the hospital bed in front of her.

“Hmm… well, I just don’t know,” Anya leaned forward and cupped her chin with her hand, tapping a finger across her lips. She hummed to herself as the old man smiled a toothless grin and laughed.

“Ha! Did you hear that Ivan!” he leaned toward the next bed, “I finally got her!”

“Sergey, let me sleep,” Ivan groaned, not even opening an eye, “She’ll beat you. She always does.”

Sergey looked back to Anya as her eyes lit up. She flashed a devilish grin and quirked an eyebrow. In a series of quick moves, she moved her black checker piece across the board, taking out the rest of Ivan’s read pieces.

“That’s what I get for betting on red,” Sergey groaned as Anya laughed, “I’m a sick old man, let me win once in a while.”

“You're a sick old man with wits,” Anya carefully picked up the board, “And if the nurses and doctors won’t exercise them, I will.” Anya leaned forward to kiss the top of his head gently and cross the room to put the board away.

“Our little Anya,” Sergey sighed, resting back on his pillows, “What we’d do without you.”

“Anya,” a nurse whispered, poking her head into the wing, “Galya is gathering everyone down the hall, says its urgent.”

She nodded and quickly put all the games away in the cupboard next to the door. Anya gently lifted her skirt just enough so she could sprint down the hall, listening in as Galya addressed the hospital’s staff. While Galya was the oldest and smallest woman in the entire hospital, her voice was so clear and robust Anya heard her clearly from thirty feet away.

“... some infection is burning through the Bolshevik soldiers in Yekaterinburg, so they are moving about twenty of their healthiest patients here,” Galya explained as Anya skidded toward the back of the group. A few of the nurses shot her dirty looks, and Anya gently brushed her skit and straightened up.

“Therefore,” Galya said slowly, studying Anya for a moment before continuing, “We need to move our patients from the east wing to the west, and prepare the east wing for the new guests. I want supplies well-stocked, especially if this spreads.”

“What supplies?” a voice whispered in a crowd.

“Do what you can,” Galya barked, “And I will see if Yekaterinburg can send more with the patients. Any other questions?”

The nurses and doctors lifted their heads to steal glances at one another, but everyone remained silent. Anya straightened her posture to peer through the crowd, and she and Galya locked eyes.

“No? Good. Get going,” Galya nodded, and the crowd dispersed in all directions to ready the rooms and gathered what supplies they could.

“Anya, a word,” Galya lifted a bony finger and gestured to the girl to come forward.

“Ma’am,” Anya nodded, bowing her head in respect, “Where do you need me?”

“I suspect some of the new patients are going to be upset about being moved half a day’s journey away from their homes,” Galya gently placed her hand behind Anya’s back, and the two walked in sync down the corridor.

“Listen to their complaints, provide comfort where you can, and if anyone has a serious matter, keep me informed,” Anya stopped walking to look at Galya’s face. Despite her serious effect, Galya was the kindest woman Anya knew. The sternness washed away as soon as the two were alone, and since waking up in the hospital bed, Anya thought of Galya as a grandmother, if she ever had one, to begin with.

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Anya replied, “If we need more beds, I’d gladly give mine away to someone who needs it. I can sleep in the barn or--”

Galya lifted her hand, a gentle smile spreading on her face, “I will need you to clear your room, but no sleeping outside you are not a cow. The couch in my apartment will suit you fine.”

“Thank you,” Anya smiled, “I’ll get straight to work.”

***

The patients from Yekaterinburg were scheduled to arrive a few short hours later. The hospital was buzzing as the nurses moved the patients around, cleaned the east wing, and doctors rushed to stock up on what few supplies were available. Galya kept watch by the main doors, giving directions and scolding anyone who rested for even a second. Anya worked twice as fast as the rest, running out of breath and wiping the sweat away every few minutes with the back of her hand. 

Anya knew that the only reason Galya allowed her to stay this long was that she had nowhere else to go, and no one seemed to be looking for her. Galya pitied Anya, but Anya proved herself to be a valuable asset to the hospital: she could cook, clean, sweep, and, most importantly, Anya possessed a natural gift of entertaining the patients with her charm, wits, and fun. Galya was a nurse for nearly fifty years and told Anya that in her experiences, the best medicine for sick patients could be having a beautiful young woman around to lift their spirits.

As Anya leaned against a wall to catch her breath, her arm rested across her stomach. Even through her blouse, she could feel the raised scar that spread from her left ribs toward her side. Instinctively, Anya scratched the back of her head to feel the second scar hiding in her shoulder-length hair. Perhaps one day, if she touched them just right, her memories would burst open. Five years, Anya thought. Has it already been that long since --?

“Anya!” Galya called from down the hall, “Get moving, they’re here!”

Anya and a swarm of nurses rushed toward the gates. Galya kept an arm on Anya’s shoulder, preventing her from moving to the front of the crowd. A caravan of cars, vans, and military jeeps circled the drive. A mixture of doctors, nurses, and soldiers burst from the vehicles and began escorting the patients out and into the hospital. Anya held her breath as a soldier glanced her way. She never understood why, but seeing military uniforms made her anxious. Perhaps it was how serious they all looked that intimidated her, or the pistols they all kept by their sides. Anya instinctively took a step back, and even Galya stepped to the side to shield her from the soldiers.

The sound of a woman crying out in pain alerted Anya and broke her fear. She pushed through the crowd to the source of the sound and found an older woman roughly handled by two soldiers.

“Here, let me,” Anya spoke softly, and the men let the old woman go and into Anya’s arms, “There now, that’s better, mm?”

“Thank you, child,” the woman patted Anya’s arm as they walked together into the hospital. Anya could see that underneath an oversized men’s wool coat, the woman was still wearing a hospital gown. She was pale and coughed, but otherwise, she seemed enough to make the journey.

“My name is Anya,” she smiled as the pair walked into the hospital toward Galya, “Ma’am, this is-- oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mrs. Sasha Vaganov of Yekaterinburg,” Sasha replied, “I was admitted into the hospital two weeks ago with pneumonia. It won’t leave me alone.”

Anya helped Sasha stand steady as Galya pressed the back of her hand to Sasha’s forehead.

“It could be from the journey, but you are feverish, Mrs. Vaganov,” Galya sighed, “Anya, could you place her in your old room, please?”

“Of course, you’ll love the room, Mrs. Vaganov,” Anya cheerfully explained as she led her down the hall, “It’ll be your own room, with a window looking at the interior gardens. It’s probably the best place to rest in all of Perma.” Anya kept one hand on Sasha’s back as she gripped Anya’s hand tightly. Mrs. Vaganov was a strong woman, but her body was weak from the trip.

“You stayed in there?” Sasha asked, “The head nurse called it your room.”

“I did stay there, for a time,” Anya explained, “Five years ago, someone left me just outside the hospital gates. I was in bad shape, so Galya and the nurses took me in and kept me there while I recovered.”

“Five years ago?” Sasha gasped, “How long were you ill?”

“Almost a year,” Anya sighed, “Or, that’s when I woke up at least. It’s a boring story, and trust me; you don’t want to think about staying here in sickbed for that long.”

“No,” Sasha chuckled as the two approached the room, “I won’t be that long.”

***

Anya was to spend as much time with the new patients from Yekaterinburg as the ones from Perma, but she couldn’t help but spend as much time with Mrs. Vaganov as possible. Sasha’s husband died years ago, and her son was off fighting and serving the new order in St. Petersburg. She hadn’t seen her son since his father died, but she loved to tell stories of them both and their house in Yekaterinburg. In the springtime, she grew a beautiful, lush garden filled with mint leaves and wildflowers. During the winter, her son would take a sled, climb the roof of their home, and fly off into the snowdrifts. Her husband knew though how to get their son to refocus his energy toward helping others. By the time he turned sixteen, he was serving in the military alongside her husband. It left her alone and afraid many nights, but she was also proud of them both.

Her stories made Anya feel both happy and sad at all at once. Home, love, family, she thought. No matter how hard Anya tried, she couldn’t remember her own. Hearing Mrs. Vaganov gush about her son and husband brought so much joy to Anya that she couldn’t help but spend long hours by her side. It was like sneaking a taste of a favorite dessert or receiving a small present at Christmas. 

In exchange, Anya would spend hours reading to her and playing games. Sasha was a much better checker player, and eventually, they migrated to chess. Anya was also gathering that Sasha was lonely; living in Yekaterinburg all by herself couldn’t have been easy. While she didn’t wish Mrs. Vaganov to be sick, Anya was glad that she came into her life.

At the end of a particularly long day, Anya made sure to stop by to visit her. Over the weeks, she noticed that Sasha’s cough worsened, and her body looked frailer with each passing day. She wasn’t eating as much, and Anya knew what that could mean. After spending time exchanging stories and reading the newspaper together, Sasha suddenly gasped.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Mrs. Vaganov smiled as she reached for an envelope from the bedside, “My son, wrote me. My eyes are not what they used to be; could you read it to me?”

“I’d be happy to,” Anya smiled, reaching for the envelope and opening it for her. Anya unfolded the paper and gently flattened it across her lap. The letter was handwritten very neatly, and Anya quickly scanned the first few lines before reading out loud.

“My loving Mama,” she began, and Sasha let out a sweet “Aw.” Anya chuckled and continued.

“‘Petrograd -- or St. Petersburg as you know it -- is everything Father described. The streets churn with hard-working, loyal men and women. My favorite part of the day is walking along the Nevsky Prospect. I like to watch people bustling in and out of their jobs, homes, and businesses. On some mornings, when I can find the time, I walk along the Neva River, listening to it flow. It reminds me of home and you. I miss you, Mama. Everyday.’” 

Sasha sniffled, and Anya quickly reached for a handkerchief to give to her. Anya cleared her throat and continued to read.

“‘While I was saddened to hear of Comrade Lenin’s poor health, Joseph Stalin seems poised to be the next --’”

“Ugh, no,” Mrs. Vaganov groaned and shook her head, “I always hated when my boys talked shop at home. If it’s nothing urgent, could you skip that part?”

Anya nodded and muttered as she speedily read through the letter. The last few sentences were free of politics.

“‘But I know that you hated it when father and I talked shop,’” Anya looked up to smile at Sasha, and they both chuckled, “‘So instead I will finish my letter by wishing you good health this Spring. I’m sure your garden will be as beautiful as I remember, and come summer, I shall come home to visit you and father’s grave. Perhaps we can bring Camomile to him -- that was always his favorite. Forever your loving son, Gleb.’”

Anya smiled and neatly folded the letter. As she passed it back to Sasha, a thought occurred to her that she knew was probably none of her business, but as Mrs. Vaganov kissed the letter and set it down, Anya knew she had to ask.

“I’m sorry if it’s rude of me to ask but,” Anya began, wringing her hands in her lap, “Does your son know your here? In Perm, in a hospital?”

Sasha sighed, “Well, you figured that out. No, he doesn’t know.”

“I’d be happy to write him,” Anya began to offer, “Or you could tell me what to write, and I could send a letter to him in St. Peter-- Petrograd.”

“That would be lovely, dear,” Sasha smiled, though Anya could tell she was growing more tired by the second, “Something short though, and I don't want him knowing how sick I am. I love my boy, but he worries too much. His work is too important to cross the country to see me recovering from a bad cold.”

Anya smiled and quickly left to get a paper and pen. When she returned, Sasha dictated a letter to Anya to send back. As Anya wrote, though, she knew Mrs. Vaganov was purposefully avoiding telling her son where she was, or of her condition.

“‘I look forward to seeing you, my sweet son. Love always, Mama,’” Sasha yawned, and Anya gently blew the paper to help the ink dry faster.

“Would you like me to include a note about where you are? He may wonder why the return address --” Anya tried to speak, but Mrs. Vaganov was fast asleep. Anya set the letter down in her chair and tucked her in. As she gently pressed her hand against her forehead, she knew that Sasha was much sicker than she was letting on. Anya took the letter and folded it into her jacket pocket. She ran down the hall to call for the doctor on duty.

Anya stood in the hall, rereading the letter she wrote on Sasha’s behalf to her son, Gleb. Whoever she was before the hospital, Anya had to give herself some credit: her penmanship was spot on. Her letters were almost calligraphic and very delicate. Still, as she reread Sasha’s words to her son, heard the love in her voice, Anya couldn’t help but feel some responsibility to tell him the whole story. It would be against Sasha’s wishes, but Anya knew if she had family out there, and they were sick or hurting, she’d want someone to tell her.

The doctor stepped into the corridor, letting out a long sigh.

“What is it?” Anya asked quietly.

“You were right to call me,” he explained, “But her body is frail, and a fever is running through her. You mentioned she was pale when she arrived, and she isn’t eating?” Anya nodded; she already knew what he was about to say next.

“Then, unfortunately, all we can do is make her comfortable and wait,” the doctor nodded grimly. Anya took in a deep breath.

“Should we contact her family?” Anya asked, “She has a son in Petrograd.” He shook his head.

“Mrs. Vaganov made it very clear to her doctors in Yekaterinburg and here that her son is involved in important government work, and we weren’t to disturb him for anything.”

The doctor couldn’t help but chuckle, making Anya quirk an eyebrow, “In one of her more lucid moments she ordered Gayla not to contact her son until she was cold and ready to be put into the earth.” 

Anya laughed a little too despite herself but nodded with the doctor in agreement.

“I’ll stay by her side through the night,” she whispered, and the doctor gently patted Anya on the arm before walking away.

Mrs. Vaganov was fast asleep, breathing deeply and slowly. Anya grabbed a clipboard and a fresh piece of paper. She knew it wasn’t what Sasha wanted, but Anya knew that what she was about to write was what her son needed to hear:

“Dear Mr. Gleb Vaganov,

My name is Anya; I work in a hospital in Perma. Your mother dictated the enclosed letter to me as she was unable to write it herself. Last month she was admitted to the hospital in Yekaterinburg. Two weeks ago, she transferred to Perma due to an infection outbreak at a military camp in your hometown. 

I’ve stayed by her side while she’s been with us; she speaks highly of you, with sincere affection and warm feelings. She loves to tell me of your misadventures as a boy, the garden she grows in spring, and the memories of your late father. We’ve spent many hours reading and playing games together. Even though it’s only been a short time, I feel as though I’ve come to know her well.

This is why I write to you now: in the last few days, your mother’s condition has steadily worsened. She made it very clear to the doctors and nurses not to reach out until she’s gone from this earth, but I respectfully disagree with her. 

If it's not too bold of me to say, your place, Gleb, is by her side. I see how you both love one another, and I can tell she misses you terribly. I understand that you have important work to see through, but I know that if someone in my family were sick or worse, I would want someone to have the decency to tell me. The address to the hospital is on the envelope. Whatever you decide, I trust that it is what’s best for both of you.

Long life, Comrade.

Anya.”

Anya looked up to see that Mrs. Vaganov was still sleeping, but her breathing was starting to sound like a rattle. She ran down the hall to the front desk. Once the envelope was sealed, stamped, and marked, Anya shoved it into the mailbox.

“No, turning back now,” she smiled and quickly rushed back to Mrs. Vaganov’s side.

***

Mrs. Vaganov slept through the day, only waking for a few short moments before falling back to sleep. The other nurses and doctors came through to make her comfortable while Anya remained by her side through the night and day, holding her hand.

Anya rested her arms and head on the bed, and when dawn broke the next morning, she could feel it. As she looked up into Sasha’s face, Anya knew. She went quietly in her sleep.

***

After the room was cleared and a nurse examined Anya for any signs of illness, she was called into Galya’s office.

“Close the door, please,” she said quietly. Anya did so.

“Have a seat,” Galya sighed. Anya followed her order and noticed a pad of notepaper with fresh ink on the paper. Galya must have taken a call just before she walked in, Anya realized.

“There’s no easy way to say this dear,” Galya tucked her hands behind her back, “So I’ll just say it. You’re leaving Perma. Today.”

“What?!” Anya nearly shouted, but Galya raised her finger to her lips to silence her.

“It’s for your own safety,” Galya tried to explain, “And besides, it’s high time you moved on from this place.”

“But, but…” Anya was stunned, “What if someone is out there, looking for me? They may think I’m here and --”

“My child,” Galya walked around her desk to sit across from Anya, taking her hands in hers, “It’s been five years. If you have a family, they’re not coming here. But, perhaps, you must go to them.”

“I don’t understand,” Anya shook her head, but Galya lifted a necklace from around her neck, and placed it Anya’s hands.

“We found this on you,” she said quietly, “The night you came to us. Read the inscription.”

Anya picked up the tiny necklace; it was a small jeweled flower the size of a coin, but Anya could read the words clear as day.

“‘Together in Paris,’” she whispered, “Paris? Whoever gave me this necklace must have loved me. But why did you wait so long to return it?”

“I was afraid, Anya,” Galya’s eyes welled, “You were only a child. And someone hurt you. Nearly killed you. I wanted to keep you safe for as long as I could, and that meant keeping this from you. But no more.”

Anya nodded and put the necklace on. She tucked the jeweled flower under her blouse so no one could see it. 

“There’s one more thing, and before I give it to you, you must promise not to tell a soul until you find someone you trust. Do you understand?” Galya asked, and Anya shook her head.

“Yes, of course,” Anya nodded. This was almost too much. What else did Galya hide?

Galya opened her hand, and inside it was a small, beautifully cut diamond.

“Galya…!” Anya gasped, but she gestured for Anya to be quiet, and she obeyed.

“It was sown into your underclothes,” she explained, “I kept it, and your necklace hidden all these years. I wanted to wait until you had to leave. It’s time, dear. There’s nothing for you here.”

“ _You’re_ here,” Anya’s eyes welled up, “Who’s going to sing your praises to the staff? They all think you’re terrible.”

Galya laughed, “They thought that before you, they think that now despite your efforts, and they’ll think that long after I’m gone, child. This place, it isn’t your future. Everything is in Paris.”

“Paris,” Anya whispered, her hand on her chest where the necklace was hiding, “I can take a hint. The world is so vast, though.”

“It always is, when you’re about to begin,” Galya’s hand rose to rest on Anya’s cheek, “But this is what you’re meant to do. Take the back roads, travel through the woods. If you need a place to stay the night, go to a church. I’d head toward St. Petersberg first. You should be able to find a passage to France from there. Just try to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble.”

“I will,” Anya rose from her chair and took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”


	2. Gleb

As the train to Perm slowed down to a chug, Gleb jolted awake. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gently moved his head from side to side. His shoulders and neck were stiff from sleeping sitting up, but he was grateful to have caught any rest at all. The last few days were a blurry rush of news, panicked phone calls, and securing all the documents he needed to leave Petrograd. A stack of letters was almost sliding off his lap, and he quickly shuffled them to put them back in order.

The first two were the letters from the hospital. Even though the hand that wrote them was unfamiliar, his mother’s voice rang through. He smiled as she described the tea flowers at home, and her gentle reminders to shave and go back to church soon. The last time he went was Christmas when he came home to celebrate with her. Gleb’s father could get him out of the Sunday masses, but his mother put her foot down every Christmas. While it was an excruciatingly long service, Gleb did enjoy that first breath of cold, winter air the moment he would step outside into the town square. The memory of the snow falling gently and landing on his mother’s shawl warmed his heart.

Gleb cleared his throat and swallowed; he needed to stay focused. His superiors allowed him this leave on a condition: since he would be in Yekaterinburg, he was to go to the field office there and bring back all the files regarding the Romanov family’s execution. The third letter contained detailed instructions on what records to bring back and what to do with them upon his return. The world accepted that the Tsar and Tsarina were dead and gone. Rumors about the grand duchesses and Tsarevich surviving were growing louder. Even imposters were coming out of the woodwork to claim titles and fortunes.

While the new government was reluctant to declare that it ordered the murder of children shamelessly, they wanted to squash any notion of a Romanov rising to power. Gleb was to find just the right evidence that could be quietly leaked to the newspapers to quell the gossip. The trouble was the mission was kept a closely guarded secret even among the highest ranks. From what Gleb gathered, everything was done behind closed doors and discussed in-person when necessary. Even the reports to follow up on the mission’s success were proving difficult to track down.

It was an impossible chicken and egg dilemma: there was no way to prove that there could be survivors, but there was no way to not  _ not _ prove it either. 

He knew it was all nonsense. He heard the shots. He listened to their screams. No one could have walked out of that basement alive. His father was one of the executioners, and if there was one thing he learned from him, it was always to follow orders and never hesitate.

Still, Gleb wasn’t looking forward to visiting the Ipatiev House or his childhood home. Guarding the Tsar and his family was his very first posting, and at first, it filled him with a sense of pride. His father beamed at him when they went on patrol together for the first time. Even his mother was proud of Gleb and gushed to her friends about it. But when the Romanovs died, it felt like they took his parents with him. His father never spoke of what happened the night they died, and he could never bring himself to smile or laugh again. He was killed during a riot just four months later. 

“The shame killed him,” she would say over and over. His mother couldn't reconcile how the man she loved and raised a son with was a soldier that killed children. Gleb tried to support her in her grief, but she was drowning in it. He could either bare it and go down with her, or live by his father’s example of duty and devotion, and continue to serve Russia in his name. When Gleb got the chance to transfer to Petrograd, he couldn’t leave home fast enough.

The train screamed to a halt, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Gleb held his breath for a moment, then took a steady, deep breath. One step at a time: bring mother home, get the papers, go back to Petrograd. These were simple tasks — a mission to carry out: nothing more.

Gleb neatly folded the letters and placed them in his messenger bag. The walk to the hospital went by quickly, and as he approached the gates, he could see an older woman standing by the main doors.

“Lieutenant Vaganov?” she called out. Gleb crossed the courtyard and offered her his hand. She took it, and he gently shook her frail hand.

“You must be nurse Galya. Thank you for caring for my mother in her final days,” he said quietly, “I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here--”

“No, my boy,” she said sweetly, covering his hand with her’s, “You did all that you could. And she was rather insistent that we not disturb you or your important work. I’m honestly surprised you got here as quickly as you did.”

“Well, I have Miss Anya to thank for that,” Gleb smiled, and Galya let his hand go, “I was hoping I could speak to her.”

“Who, dear?” Galya asked, blinking hard and cupping a hand to her ear. Gleb cleared his throat and leaned in closer as he reached into his bag.

“Anya,” he replied louder, showing the two letters, “It seems she had the foresight to reach out to me on my mother’s behalf. I want to meet her. Ask her if my mother --”

Gleb cleared his throat as Galya leaned back, nodding in understanding.

“I would like to thank her,” Gleb concluded.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Galya sighed as she led him inside the hospital, “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Gleb asked astonished, “Did she fall ill?”

“Oh! No! No, no,” Galya waved a hand in the air, “Nothing like that. She got a better paying job at the fish factory… Krasnokamsk? Or was it Kaminsky? Forgive me, young man, my memory isn’t--”

“It’s quite alright,” Gleb nodded, “Is this where...?” Gleb gestured to the empty room with a single cot inside. A small, familiar pile of clothes sat on the bed.

“Your mother stayed in this room when she was moved from Yekaterinburg,” Galya gently placed a hand on Gleb’s arm, “She went in her sleep. There was no pain.”

“Thank you,” Gleb sniffed quietly, “Where is she?”

“The medical examiner’s office below. There was no need for an autopsy; she suffered pneumonia for some time,” Galya replied, “Now that you’re here, I’ll have her moved for transport. When you’re ready, a van will take you both back to Yekaterinburg. Some of her personal effects are on the bed if you would like to take them with you.”

“You’ve been very kind, ma’am,” Gleb bowed, “I’d like a few moments alone if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Galya smiled, “My office is by the front door. If there’s anything you need, ask.”

As soon as he heard her footsteps fade away, Gleb let out a breath he held in for days. His mother’s rosary sat on top of her folded clothes. He remembered the story that this belonged to his grandmother and her mother, and so on. The beads were carved from the same tree that made the foundation of their home. It was a relic of a simpler time in Yekaterinburg that was long gone. He picked it up, and gently ran his thumb across each bead, feeling the polished wood and admiring the unique grain of each bead. Gleb looked around, and when he was certain no one was around, he placed the rosary around his neck and tucked it underneath his uniform. For a few minutes, he stood by the empty bed with one hand on his chest and another gently touching the sheets. The rain was gently starting to hit the panes, and Gleb looked out into the gray, midday sky. 

_ I’m here, mother _ , he thought to himself,  _ I’ve come to take you home. _

When he was ready, he stepped back into the hallway, but instead of heading straight back to the front entrance, he strolled through the wings and passed by the rooms filled with other patients. Men, women, and children were coughing, snoring, or crying in pain. There was so much work to return to, Gleb thought. The new government was better than the tsar, but only just. As long as the people of Russia suffered like this, Gleb knew his country would be a wound that never healed.

“You the Vaganov boy?” a voice called out. Gleb stopped in his tracks to enter the room the sound came from. It was a large open space crammed with eight beds. An older man was sitting up, stretching his shoulders as he slowly moved.

“I am, comrade,” Gleb smiled easily, “Who might you be?”

“Sergey,” the man replied, “I’m sorry to hear of your mum. She was a nice lady. Anya liked her.”

“Thank you,” Gleb nodded, “I am only sorry I didn’t get to meet Anya. From the letter, she wrote, it sounded like she got to know my mother pretty well before she died. Did you know Anya?”

“She kicked his ass at checkers every other day,” another man laughed, giving Gleb a small salute, “Ivan. She was a good girl. We were all surprised to hear she’d gone.”

“Do you know why she left?” Gleb asked and grabbed an empty chair to sit between the two men.

“Galya threw her out,” Sergey pouted, “Kicked her to the curb like a dog with fleas.”

Gleb furrowed his brow confused.

“Galya told me that Anya got a better job in a fish factory in another town,” Gleb leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap, his thumb tapping. Why would she lie about something so inconsequential?

“Anya loved it here,” Ivan shook his head, “She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. All the patients knew her, and she knows all of us.”

“How long did she work here?” Gleb asked.

“Well, when she got better, Galya put her to work,” Sergey explained, “I think she’s been around… a couple of years now. I’ve been in-and-out for the last three. The war did a number on my health.”

Gleb hummed and bit his lower lip as he tried to piece it together, “So at first, Anya was a patient here?”

Ivan and Sergey looked at each other, looking a little nervous and unsure. After a few moments of silence, Gleb sighed.

“I’m not here to trick you or cause her harm,” Gleb said gently, leaning forward in his chair, “Anya was by my mother’s side when she died, and she sounds like a kind, hard-working person. I wanted to thank her, but after everything you’ve told me and what Galya said… something doesn’t feel right. I only want to help.”

Ivan and Sergey studied Gleb for a moment, then each other. Ivan cleared his throat.

“Whatever happened to her before, she never liked to talk about it,” Ivan explained, “We think it was some accident. As far as we could tell, she doesn’t have any friends or family on the outside. I think that’s why Galya kept her around for so many years. She didn’t have a place to go.”

“There’ve been a lot of people through this place over the years, but Galya’s been here the longest,” Sergey coughed, “I’d ask her about it.”

“Thank you,” Gleb stood up and shook each man’s hand, “I will.”

***

Gleb quickly rounded the corner of the hall and stopped short at the open doorway to Galya’s office. She was smoking a cigarette and going through a mountain of papers.

“Why did you lie?” he said calmly but with an edge that made Galya lookup instantly.

“Hello to you, young man,” she put out the cigarette and folded her hands on the desk, “What are you asking?”

“The people here said Anya was a patient before you put her to work. That you threw her out just after my mother died,” Gleb explained, tucking his hands behind his back, “You told me left because she got a job at the fish factory. So which is it?”

Galya breathed in deeply and reached for two empty teacups. Gleb studied them; they were too delicate and expensive looking for the small office Galya kept. The handles and rims had a gold finish with an intricate blue and white pattern on the cup and saucers. She poured tea into each one and gestured for Gleb to take one and have a seat. When he didn’t budge, Galya groaned and leaned back in her chair. She took a long sip, then set the cup down by her ashtray. Galya gave one more look, then rolled her eyes when he still didn’t move.

“Do you think you can intimidate me, boy?” she said coldly, “I suppose that uniform gives you the notion you can march in here and demand anything you wish from a tired, old woman. I don’t see how the employment status of a young woman is of any concern to you.”

“You are dodging my questions and refusing to answer,” Gleb replied, “And forgive me, ma’am, but the more you do that, the more curious I become. I could have this entire hospital flipped upside down, but I would much rather a friendly chat. So which is it?”

Galya sighed and tapped her thumb against the desk for a moment. She gestured for Gleb to sit again, and this time he complied.

“It’s all of it: Anya was a patient here once, long ago. She couldn’t pay for her care, so I put her to work. The patients and staff liked her, so I kept her on even after her bills were resolved. But she was an emotionally troubled woman,” Galya took another sip of tea as Gleb listened and watched her intensely.

“Anya grew too attached to the patients. She’s seen many people die here, Lieutenant,” Galya took a moment to choose her next words carefully, “I think your mother was the last straw. She left to work somewhere else, that’s all.”

“Why couldn’t you just say that before?” Gleb asked.

“I don’t see how her personal life is any of your business,” she replied as if the answer was so obvious.

“Then, I imagine you won’t tell me why Anya was admitted here in the first place?” Gleb smiled, making Galya huff in laughter.

“You’re funny,” she smirked, “No. For one, when she came to us, we had hundreds of patients coming through between the war, famine, and everything else. It was all a blur, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

_ I doubt that _ Gleb thought, but he nodded and took a sip of tea.

“And second, her patient records were destroyed,” Galya finished as she reached for her cup.

“I beg your pardon?” Gleb asked, astonished.

“A few years ago, one of our nurses decided to take her cigarette break in the room where we keep patient files,” Galya explained as she took another sip of tea, “She thought she put her butt out, but instead the whole room caught fire.”

“Really?” Gleb asked, feeling there was more to the story than Galya let on. 

Instead, he took a sip of the tea and muttered, “That’s convenient.”

Galya’s frowned, “Considering we not only lost her information but birth records, death records, and medical histories for practically everyone in Perm that went back several generations, I would say it is very inconvenient, Lieutenant.”

Gleb lifted his teacup to her and took a sip. The ornate design of the cup reminded him of his other mission.

“Then I don’t suppose you remember anything happening around July 1918? Any curious patients coming through that month?” Gleb asked as casually as possible, but he could tell that Galya saw right through him.

“How dare you,” she seethed, “You know damn well what your people did. Why would you bring that up to me now?”

“There are rumors that one of the children survived. I was just wondering if you knew or heard anything about that. It was only a question, comrade,” Gleb replied, but Galya’s temper was flaring beyond her control.

“I am not your comrade,  _ boy _ ,” she stood up quickly, causing the table to rattle, “Now get out of my office.” 

Gleb gave her a natural smile, satisfied he pushed her into revealing she wasn’t some tired, old woman. He took the last sip of tea and leaned back in his chair.

“I suppose you sympathized with the Romanovs then?” Gleb dared to ask, but Galya rolled her eyes.

“I had no love for the Tsar, believe you me,” she explained, “I cheered when he abdicated. But I cannot blindly support a government that murders children as you can.”

“It was a vital task,” Gleb explained, “It was the right and the only way to secure our country’s future. No matter how… unpleasant it was.”

“Well, forgive me, young man,” Galya sighed, “Perhaps it’s because I’m too old for your revolutions, or its because I’m a mother, but in my eyes, there is no honor in the slaughter of innocent children. There’s always another way. Another choice.”

“It’s never a choice,” Gleb stood up, folding his hand behind his back, “It is a simple duty.”

Galya shook her head, “You poor, foolish boy. I hope if you ever face such a choice, you will do what is right, not what ‘duty’ demands.”

Gleb did his best to suppress an eye roll. They were talking in circles, and he still had to bring his mother home.

“Thank you for the tea and conversation, ma’am,” he offered her his hand to shake, and Galya looked at it with contempt. After a moment, she took it and shook harder than when they first met.

“Take care of yourself, Lieutenant,” Galya said, and Gleb bowed his head. 

He stepped out of the office and into the front courtyard. The van was waiting for Gleb to take him back to Yekintenberg. The driver was leaning against the front of the car smoking a cigarette, and when he saw Gleb approaching, he threw it to the ground and scraped it across the pavement with his boot.

“We’re all set to leave. You ready, sir?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Gleb replied, getting into the passenger side of the truck, “Let’s go.” The driver joined Gleb and turned the ignition key. As the engine backfired, Gleb leaned forward in his seat to see Galya watching from her office window. His mother’s rosary shifted underneath his shirt, and his hand went to his chest to move it. 

The truck began to pull away from the curb and through the gates. The road opened up to them, and Gleb stared out the window at the trees and rocks along the path. A vast, large forest connected Perm and Yekintenberg. The sun was starting to set, and Gleb remembered just how dark the wood could be at night. The headlights flickered on, but all Gleb could see was the ground immediately in front of the car.

A few hours passed, and soon, a faded sign came into view.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant,” the driver smiled, and Gleb did his best to fake a smile in return.


End file.
